


Rite of Passage

by Braxdovah



Category: White Wolf
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braxdovah/pseuds/Braxdovah





	Rite of Passage

“Your kind doesn’t exist.” 

"Faodaidh tu beantuinn rium, ach cha spioradan agus gidheadh tha mi an aon nach eil ann." ~Translation:"You can touch me, but not spirits and yet I am the one that does not exist." 

The older bastet shakes her head. “You are a cheeky one, kitten. Secrets are the way we guide and teach. Everything was once a secret. Bring me 3 secrets. One that should not be. One that cannot remain and one that must.” 

"Teid mi gan iarraidh air ais mar leth ithe luchan no bidh fuil air m 'fheusag a bhith a' dearbhadh gu leòr de mo sealg?" ~Translation:"Shall I fetch them back like half eaten mice or will the blood on my whiskers be proof enough of my hunt?" 

It takes 3 nights before the ceilican returns. A tattered and beaten messenger bag over his shoulder. “There is a human attempting to buy up the land owned by the wolves’ kinfolk. He stinks of old meat and blood. They did not know it was happening, but he is careless and left his window open.” Out of the bag comes a stack of papers, he tosses these on the table. 

“Continue, kitten.” 

He paws in the bag again digging out a map. “They were looking for something in the old caern and have weakened the mountain.” He unrolls the map and points to the symbols. “They need to move the kinfolk before the next rain. The mountain will survive but not the people.” 

The bastet pulls the map from him and scans it. “I see. They are not going to move them lightly.” 

Calibos nods and dives back into the bag. Gently away from the papers he places a oilcloth tied bundle flecked with whisker-curling fluid. 

“Feumaidh iad a 'dol. Seo a bhith air am falach fa leth. Rabhadh a thoirt am madadh-allaidh folk.” ~ Translation: They must go. This has to be hidden separately. Warn the wolf folk.

“Well done, Blood on Whiskers. I will handle the message.”


End file.
